"This is what you taught me."
Fan Jian sighed. His fingers gently rubbed and felt the texture of a piece of paper.
There was a portrait of a woman's head drawn in charcoal on the paper. Although there were very few strokes, it managed to capture vividly the woman's spirit and appearance, particularly the eyes of the woman. They looked at Fan Jian with a kind of compassion, warmth, cheek…as he gazed at her.
"The picture the Emperor had a great artist secretly draw of you is in the palace," Fan Jian gazed at the woman in the picture and said with a slight smile. "But for me, your appearance has always been in my mind very clearly."
"Every time I want to talk with you, I cannot resist but to draw another one."
"To draw a cheeky you, a cold you, a hurt you, a happy you."
"There are so many of you, which is the true you? It's a pity, there is no way to ask you."